Feindsender
by Spitfire123
Summary: The year was 1939, and so many things were wrong. Ludwig is imprisoned, for listening to anti-Nazi propaganda, Germany invades Poland, the Vargas' are sent to a labor camp, and Polish jews are being rounded up as well. Will fate be kind, or will death run rampant throughout the world? (Historical WWII fic, currently being rewritten, many characters)
1. Chapter 1

The year was 1939. I was seventeen and my brother was nineteen. He worked in the factories producing parts for planes, and I went to school, where I was taught how to be a loyal Nationalist. I had never bought into the Aryans or the superior race, but being a part of it, a part of everything, made me feel welcome. It made me feel like I belonged to something, even when the entire world blamed me and my people for the Great War.

Leading up to the Second World War, everything felt wrong. I saluted when I had to, 'heil'ed when I had to, but I had a bad feeling about the coming war. Whether it was just me, or misread signs, I still don't know, or remember. But one night, the rain poured, my mother, Opa, and my brother were still not home, and I did something, bad, something illegal, something I shouldn't have done and I paid for it with the rest of my life.

I took out the radio, and listened. I hear voices, static, and voices again. It's nothing special, and I should have turned it off right then. But something about it intrigues me.

At the beginning of September, Germany invaded Poland, and I'm drafted into the army. I stay in Germany while the government decides what to do now that we have part of Poland. They decide to invade France, but through Belgium instead of the Ardennes.

I saw things I never want to see again. People do things, bad things.

I'm disgusted, at humanity, and myself. I knew, if I spoke out, I'd end up in somewhere bad, but I never thought I'd end up here. Not in this place, and I never thought I'd drag my brother down with me.

My brother and I were put into solitary confinement for a couple of days. We communicated using radio code through the wall. I would tap out a response with my fingers, he would listen, and then tap his response through the concrete walls. For us, life had no meaning anymore. I ruined it, we were stuck here, and it felt like eternity.

* * *

The day the Nazis invaded was the day my life was officially over.

Ah, sorry, I haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Toris Laurinaitis, a Jew from Lithuania that found refuge in Poland. Before the Nazis and Soviets attacked, that is. I owned a small shop in Warsaw, but it was trashed when the Nazis occupied the city. Me and my brothers, Raivis and Eduard, moved to Poland in 1934 to escape persecution, but we just found more.

When the Nazis invaded Poland, I narrowly escaped the first deportations, and I found myself in the ghettos. A friend, a flamboyant, rambunctious medical student of Warsaw was one of the first deported after he opposed the Germans. I eventually found him in the work camps when I was sent, as they were clearing out the ghettos.

It was a dark night, the lights were glaringly bright. The occupation had been about two weeks long so far, and I was awakened from my slumber by shouts and trucks. Raivis was already at the window, peering curiously out onto the streets, and Eduard was still asleep. I got up and Raivis looked at me with frightened eyes, then turned back to the window.

The streets were filled with bodies, some dead, others standing to face the Germans with fearful tears. I saw my friend, Feliks, watched as they took him by the hair and shoved him into the truck. My eyes burnt with tears as the it left.

For days, I couldn't speak. I stay cooped up in my room, blinds pulled, sniffling in my own self-pity and missing his smile, his eyes, his way of making me feel better after a bad day, his way of making me laugh. I missed him, up until the moment I found him in a bunk at a work camp.

* * *

Damn him, he can't do something like this! That stupid bastard just can't!

My brother, Feliciano is beside me, humming a slight tune as we walk back to the house we share with our five siblings. My brother seems rather calm, but the night was young. A lot could happen in tonight, whether it be for better or for worse.

I stop my brother for a second, making out the outline of a figure standing in our path. It's dark, and hard to see, but the scent of his leather hits me in a wave. I frown. What could he possibly want? Is he lost, or waiting for us?

I walk past the SS officer with my brother, watching warily as he lights a short smoke. My family hasn't been on good terms with the fascist regime since the Rome takeover in 1922. My brother is beside me, chattering about something, but I'm too jittery about the SS being in Rome, never-the-less, right next to me.

It's not like I've done anything wrong. I've defended the ideas of God, and yet, somehow, I am being watched. Did I do something wrong? I don't know the ways of life or even God anymore..

The SS member takes a drag from the cigarette, even though it's just a nub now. He curses and drops it, stamping it out with his polished leather boots. After, he turns to me, watching me with unnerving red eyes and calling out to me. "Warten, warten! Habt ihr einem Zigarette?"

In all honesty, I have no clue as to what he said, but Feliciano smiles and nods, handing him one of the rationed cigarettes.

He smirks, thanking us and lighting it up, relaxing as the smoke filled his lungs. He waves us off, "Danke. Jetzt, geht nach Hause." And we both turn, heading on our way.

When we arrive safely at our house, I collapse against the door, panting in relief. We've survived one more night.

* * *

**A/N: Well, I promised to rewrite this, and I am going through with that promise. The story is going to be different than before, but still relatively close to the overall plot. Reviews are loved, and so are favs and follows! Just be patient with me, I have exams, and other stories I have to work on, even though the chapters should be up relatively fast compared to my other stories. Any criticism is also welcome! Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

I think it was the third day when I was released to be interrogated. If it wasn't, well, what's the harm in thinking it was?

Before I was released from my concrete cell, there had been plenty of shouts and loud scramblings outside, but there was no way for me to see.

I was escorted through the hallways of the establishment, two Nazi guards on either shoulder, and one in the back, pressing his MP40 between my shoulder blades. The Nazis on the sides of me gripped my arms in a bruising grip, pushing me along forcefully.

We stopped a couple of times, only when a superior officer passed us. The three others heiled, and I watched, unable to bring myself to do such a thing. I was no longer part of this Reich, I was just a criminal.

When we got through the twisting and turning halls and finally made it to the interrogation room, the guards pushed me inside, following shortly after. The man sitting at the desk smiled and stood, giving me a suspicious glance over. "Ludwig Beilschmidt?"

"Ja." I replied, trying to calm my nerves. His eyes noted every move, watching for any evidence against me.

"Sit." I sit, looking back at the Nazi guards behind me. The man sits back at his desk. "Jetzt, Beilschmidt, what is your defense." It doesn't matter whether I give a defense or not, I'm doomed to the prisons either way. Though I do eventually speak up, they don't believe me.

* * *

My lungs are on fire, my arms are burning, and shoulder is dislocated. Across my arms are burns, two degree maybe? Blisters are already forming. My upper body is soaked and shaking from when they almost drowned me in a vat of ice water. My right arm was pulled out of its socket during the interrogation, and yet they are still pulling on it with ferocity, with no regard for my pains.

It's been hours. I want to give up, there's no point in continuing.

My screams echo in my own ears, and the main Nazi takes my face in a harsh grip, brown eyes peering into my soul. He says two words, whispered, barely even muttered. My tears are falling now. I lost my self-restraint a few minutes into the torture.

'Admit it.' I whimper. I don't want it to end like this. I don't want to go to the prisons, I don't want to be an enemy of the state.

But I have no choice. It just slips out, "I did it.." Gilbert.. I'm so sorry..

* * *

After my shoulder was put back in place, I was put onto a truck with a couple other people. It hurt to move, but I managed. My eyes were burning, no, my entire body felt like it was on fire from the torture. Every time the truck jerked, I almost puked from the aching pain.

When I looked around, I found my brother's red eyes on me. He was across the aisle, watching me. His head was bloodied, and he sported a large gash on the right side of his cheek. His hair was no longer a platinum silver, but pink with blood. His cheek was still bleeding, and the blood was dripping onto the floor of the truck.

He sees me checking his injuries, and smirks a little, giving me a condescending head shake. It's a very Gilbert-like thing to do.

I reach up to gingerly run my fingers through his hair, collecting some of the blood on my hands. "Bruder," I whisper, trying to attract as little attention as possible. "W-What did they do to you?" He shrugs, and I rip a part of my shirt off to dab at his cheek, frowning at the way he flinches at my touch.

"They just got a bit creative with their guns." His voice is hoarse as he shrugs again. He groans in pain as I press the shirt hard to the gash, and then move up to the side of his head, where they had struck him in the temple. My shirt was soaked in blood as I finally stopped the bleeding.

I can feel Gilbert's eyes scanning my body, especially my arms. He takes hold of my wrist and I try not to flinch. The burns have produced blisters, and my brother sighs, looking back up at me.

"What did they do to you." He asks, bringing my arm closer to his face to examine them a bit.

"They burnt me.." I say, and Gilbert places his fingers on either side, preparing to drain one of the blisters. It might cause infection, but leaving them as they are could get me a failing grade in the health examination, and get me killed.

My brother presses on it, using his fingernail to create a small hole that the fluids can escape from. The pus flows from it as Gilbert moves to another. The liquids pile on the floor of the truck, creating a yellow puddle that mixes with the my brother's blood.

When the truck jerks to a stop, I hear what I assume to be the truck driver speaking to someone. "So what group do you have," One voice says, and I hear a sigh from the driver.

"Schutzstaffel. Probably just a bunch of criminals," Was the reply, and I growl, glaring a bit. You, you're the criminal. You are the ones who murder innocent people.

"Ah, how'd it go, over there."

"About eight people were killed in the torture session."

"Mein Gott, they have to stop killing such valuable test subjects!" My need to vomit intensifies, and I can taste the acids on my tongue.

"I think you are too caught up in your experiments. Take a break for once,"

There was small chortle, and I grimace. "Alright, alright, go, you're through," The truck starts up again, and within minutes, we are pulled out, and forced to march towards another concrete building. The guards around us point and laugh, shouting insults, yelling obscenities I'd rather not recount.

Inside the building, it's freezing and we are told to strip. I get goosebumps, and I attempt to give myself some dignity by covering my nether regions, but the guard does not think that's acceptable. His gun is pointed at me, and I shiver, exposing myself. He smirks and turns to the entire group, "Put your clothes in the corner." He orders, and no one dares disobey the man with the gun.

Silently, I say goodbye to the shirt my mother sewed me, and the pants that were my father's before he died.

He orders us to stand in rows, watching as a couple of frazzled prisoners rush around, cutting off the hair of others. Their hair is short too.

I don't have much hair that they can cut off, so they snip off a bit and move on. To me, hair is just something that will grow back eventually, but I hear the quiet sniffles of others, and I realise that it might mean more to them.

When they finished up, the guards ushered in other prisoners who were carrying piles of clothes. One of them hands me a striped shirt, a striped pair of pants, a needle, and a pair of wooden soled shoes. The guard walks down the rows, asking a series of questions. When he gets to me, I shiver and look at him, steeling my expression for the coming question.

"What is your crime." Crime? What crime? I haven't done anything wrong. I shake my head slightly, and he growls, hand connecting firmly with my face. "I said, what is your crime?" He grounds out.

"C-Criminal." I whisper, and he takes my hand in a bruising grip, forcing a small fabric green triangle into my hand. He smirks, and I shudder, wishing this humiliation would end. I'm seventeen, I don't want to do this, any of this. I just want to die..

"You are prisoner number 982. You are assigned to barracks 3" He moves on to Gilbert, handing him a green triangle as well. We are no longer people, just numbers. My heart drops into my stomach when I hear I will not be with Gilbert in the same barracks. He is really the only family I have left, in this accursed place.

The guard finishes handing out triangles, and orders us to sew them onto our shirts. I've never even touched a needle before in my life, and I end up pricking myself three or four times. I muttered curses throughout the entire time, things like 'Scheisse' and 'Aua'. I can hear my brother having trouble as well, watching him fumble with the needle was a bit of a relief. It reminded me of home.

When I manage to sew the damn thing to my shirt, I redress in the prison clothes. The shirt is rough and itchy, rubbing against my body in all the wrong places, the pants are too long, dragging along the ground so much that I have to roll them up, and the shoes soles are wooden, making my feet ache.

By the time we had finished, the sun had set, covering the prisons in a veil of darkness. Another group is pushed in behind us. I give my brother a smile, patting him on the back, and he smirks, as if to say 'we'll make it through. Somehow.'

The sky flashes as a shooting star flies by, giving me hope. My wish is nothing amazing, I just wish for a second chance.

* * *

**A/N: Well, here's chapter two rewritten. Man, looking back at my writing from years ago really opens your eyes, y'know? Well, time to go study for AP exams.. blegh**


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning was the morning I arrived in the camp for the first time. Light is streaming in through the canvassed truck, and my friend Toris flashes across my mind. I hope he's okay.

My name is Feliks. I am, er, was a medical student in Warsaw. I am here because I'm a Jew.

My eyes are crusted when I awaken. They are still sore from my tears last night, but, never-the-less, I smile. That's what Toris taught me to do. Enjoy everything you get the chance to, because you never know when it might be taken from you.

The Nazis beat me hard last night, when I put up a fight. I caught a couple of fists in the ribs, and one in the face before they decided they'd had enough of me. My ribs hurt, I think I broke one or two. Or, at least, it feels like that.

With a small smile, I exit, stepping past the guards cautiously. I don't want to anger them.

It's morning, and on the horizon, I can see rows upon rows of houses, and a large courtyard where rows upon rows of people are standing.

But I trudge on, making my way inside the concrete building. The overseer leaves the door open, letting the November winds chill us Jews. He orders us to strip, and we do, albeit with some resistance. Not from me though, I am done fighting back after what happened last night.

Then he tells us to get in rows of five. I would make a joke about how much the Germans like rows, but I bet I'd get beaten again.

I look at my fellow prisoners. They all look about my age, nineteen. We were all tired and weary, just wishing for a hot meal and a nice long nap.

But let's be honest, these are the Nazis.

Men with scissors enter the room, and I shiver. My hair. It's going to be gone.. I don't know if I can deal with that, emotionally. My hair was the symbol of my mother's family. My mother isn't on this earth anymore, but I try to honor her as much as I can, and that includes growing my hair out.

I waited for my turn, savoring the last moments with my mother's memory intact. They approached me, scissors at the ready. My hands are at my sides, clenching. No, no, take something else, not my hair.

_Snip._

My eyes snap open, just in time to watch as my hair, no, my mother's hair falls to the ground. I hear my whimpers echo in my head, hot tears welling in my eyes. It's not so much the fact that they cut my hair, but the feeling of being forcefully separated from something you love. I hate these people.

The guard sees me, and decides he wants to humiliate me even more, as if I'm not humiliated enough.

He picks a wad of my blond hair up off the ground and holds it to my face, devilish smirk contorting his features. "Do you want your hair back?" I flinch at his tone, mean and condescending.

"N-No." Was my reply, and his knuckles make bruising contact when he backhands me. The smirk doesn't leave his face, turning to the other guards in the room.

"Es hat schmutziger Haare der Judens." They all laugh, and I look down at the floor. My eyes are dripping with unshed tears. "Es ist eine Judenschwein." They laugh again, and my fists clench harder against my side.

After a couple more minutes of name calling, we were passed out striped uniforms, shoes, and a needle. The guard walked row by row, asking what their crime was, but my gut feeling was that he already knew.

From this, I learned that almost everyone in this room were Jews like me. It's my turn, and he sneers. "What is your crime, Jew." I stay silent, eyes on the floor. I can't talk, I'm too scared I'll say something wrong. "What is your crime?!" He asks again, pressing his walther between my eyes.

"I haven't done anything wrong." I whisper, and somehow he hears me.

"No, I'll tell you, I'll tell all of you, what you have done." He looks around, but all the others are silent, staring at the floor as well. "You, and you, and you, and all of you, lost the Great War for us. You're all conspiring against the German people, the perfect race. You all caused the depression because you're all greedy." He looked around the room with an angry expression, then turned back to me. His hand grips my neck, lifting me off the ground. He's choking me, and I scrabble against him, gasping for air that will not come to my lungs. I watch as something cracks behind his eyes, and he drops me, throwing two yellow triangles at me.

He glares maliciously, growling, "You are assigned to barracks 4." His eyes, they scare me.

* * *

When he had finished, the guard had walked back to the front of the room, directing us to sew the triangles to our uniforms. I sew it on with ease, mainly because I've had so many years to learn how to fix up my own clothing. My mother died when I was five, so from then on, I've had to fix my own objects.

I smile and even laugh a bit when I see others struggling, going so far as to prick themselves on accident.

I slip the shirt over my head, but it hangs off of my shoulder because it's so big. I fasten the pants around my waist, but a good portion of the pant legs were still dragging along the ground. That was fixable though. Then there was the shoes. They were the worst part of the entire uniform. They had flat wooden soles, and were a couple sizes too big.

I didn't dare ask for another, I didn't want to go through that torture again..

When we are released from the building, we are marched to a nearby factory, where we assemble ammunitions for the German soldiers. We go the entire day without a break, and when we are relieved by another barracks, the sky is dark.

A man next to me sighs, trudging along the dirt path with unmanaged silver hair and red eyes. He's close to looking dead. "What's your name?" I ask. There's no harm in making friends in a place like this.

"Gilbert, but don't bother remembering it. I'll be dead and gone in a couple months."

* * *

**A/N: translations: Es hat schmutziger Haare der Judens. (lit. It has dirty hair of the Jews; It has dirty Jewish hair.) (Genitive :P)**

**Es ist eine Judenschwein (It is a Jewish pig)**

**WELL, now we have Feliks here... TT_TT Imma go sulk in my emo corner now..**


	4. Chapter 4

**(Romano)**

It is over. Those Nazi bastards figured me out. Me and my brother, we're doomed. I hug him closer to my body, keeping him protected from the weapons of the Germans.

"So you think that your petty arguments will be enough to make our Führer rethink his words?" One of them asks us, then he assaults a pressure point, causing me to collapse onto the ground in pain. "The Führer is a divine god! His word must be in the Bible!" His foot makes contact with my side, and I double over in pain, wheezing.

"I'm s-sorry.." I manage to get out before they attack like wolves, ripping through my body without a thought. It scares me.

_How are these things human?_

My face is scraped, and my body is bruised, but I still look up.

"Feli," I whisper. "R-run." But he doesn't. He just stands there in shock. I scream at him, "Run! RUN!" For God's sake, Feli, get out of here!" But nothing works. He's frozen, and then the Nazis give him the same harsh treatment, the same kicks and slaps, his poor face will get scrapped.

They already have me bound and gagged, my brother.. He..

He's not strong enough, dear Lord, protect him.

* * *

**(Gilbert)**

It is morning, the sun is up, and the campgrounds are swarming with people, marching to the courtyard to salute. They are yelling, "Appell, appell." The blond man beside me is oblivious to the calls, snoring lightly. I did my best to try to awaken him, but it is impossible. It is the same man from last night, and as much as I appreciate the sentiment, he, like the rest of us, will have to learn rather than be taught. I just hope the Kapo takes it easy on him.

When roll call starts, the man, Feliks I believe, is bruised. Caps off, they yell, and most of us turn to the left. Those who don't, like Feliks, are beaten.

Then they begin to call people, prisoners out, bring them to stand at the front. They bring out the gallows and guns, and all of us shudder. Our Kapo is up there as well, and he is hanged because of his cooperation with the camp resistance. During the procession, which we were forced to watch, a man approaches me, takes me by the arm, and drags me away.

My parting wish is that they end it quickly.

* * *

I'm not killed, which is the first surprise of the day. The second is that instead of being bound and thrown against the wall as easy pickings, I am holed up in a rather nice looking cabin. The man across from me is in uniform, writing down and filling in various blanks on a sheet that I am not allowed to look at. He speaks up after a couple minutes, giving me a suspicious glance.

"You have not spoken. Usually people beg for their lives at this point." I look up with my red eyes, barely resisting a growl.

"And why would I beg for my life? Begging is a symbol of weakness, is it not?" I ground out, and he laughs. It wasn't funny. He's mocking me.

"You are a true German." He says, and hands me the sheet he's been writing on. At the top it says _Oberkapo_, and I flinch. It means I'll be the bastard in charge of people in the barracks. But leadership is one thing, and beating people with sticks and ropes is another. I don't want the job, but the Nazi speaks up again.

"You sentence will be seven years, instead of fourteen, and your food rations will increase. Now go, and you will be given the proper equipment to carry out your job." He waves me away, leaving no time for me to deny the job.

I'm fixed up in a sweater to combat the January frost, given a nightstick for 'protection', and sent to watch over barracks four in the factories. I spend the next couple weeks learning to fake my anger and beat people with this stick until they are screaming for their lives. No, do not give me that look, do not give me that tormented look, your eyes shining with anguish. It is a dog eat dog world. It is what I had to do to survive.

After weeks of this (it is now mid-february), I am given the order to fix the new prisoners up with clothes. It is certainly a task I do not want, but I oblige.

I tell them to go through the necessary procedures, give them clothes, and begin to walk down the lines, giving out colored triangles and looking for precious jewelry that can be turned in to receive food. I inwardly smirk when I find one though. It's horrible here, but I can get extra food for my brother by doing this.

There is a man, brown hair and eyes the color of amber. He's just standing there, flaunting a golden crucifix that hangs around his neck. He is wearing his pride on his sleeve. That's the most dangerous kind of man to have here.

I reach up to snag the necklace from his neck, but he blocks my attempts.

"You can't have this." He says, and to my amusement, I ask why. The man looks at the ground, mumbling something about how it was his father's. I snag it anyways, and pocket it. It's mine now, and this guy won't last a month here.

"What is your crime?" I ask, almost robotically. It repeated so often in this camp that it is melded into my brain.

The man just stands there, eyes wide, then he glares at me. "I am a fucking clergyman, you assho-" And that's when my nightstick collided with his head. It must have been a hard hit because he fell to the ground in pain. I regret it. I regretted every moment of it.

I throw a red triangle onto him, watching as he struggles to rise to his feet. _No,_ I think to myself, _stay down. It's easier like that. _

The next man looks similar to the other, perhaps a bit slimmer, with lighter hair, but it doesn't matter anyways. I ask him the same question, and he backs away from me, looking at the ground. He mutters an answer that I barely hear, but I toss a red triangle at him all the same. He thanked me, and it shocked me, right out of my brain-washed lapse. I took a step away from him just as he had done to me, and continued on, handing out triangles.

* * *

**(Feliks)**

The days are long, no, the hours, minutes, and seconds are long. I'll be here until I die.

The lines are devastatingly long, and for what? A drink of tar-ish quality? Something that tastes like dirt? But, I suppose that it is better than nothing. It could be concrete, and we would still drink it because all of us here are so very hungry.

Our job today is to continue to make ammunitions. The factory floor is filled with smoke from the machines, and there were no bathrooms, lunch breaks, and the Germans whipped us when we messed up. We worked long shifts, working fourteen hours, then we were sent back to the barracks to sleep, only to rise and work again.

Then, I realised, this is all for the Germans. Everything I'm doing, every living day. It's all to help the German people, these Nazis. The reason they haven't killed me yet is because they need workers to work.

_I don't want to help them, _I would think, _but I don't want to die. I don't want to die.. But these things that I'm making, they're going to kill other people... But I want to live.. I don't want to die.. _

It was my thinking time, the time I had to think about what I had done with my life. But the answer was always the same. Nothing. I have done nothing. Am I even worthy enough to be alive?

After that, I would shake my head. No, if my countrymen are dying, I should be with them.

The Germans began to notice my lack of concentration, and they acted. One began to laugh and whip me when he thought I was getting slower. They would turn up the speed on the conveyor belt, and I would be caught behind, embarrassed, and then they would whip me again.

When the dreaded work day was finally over, I would finally be able to relieve myself, and under the dark sky, I would pray to God that this torture would be over soon.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I'm starting to put POV up there, mainly because I have so many characters now that it might be confusing. Ah, oh well. Y'know, I don't usually beg for reviews but.. Please? **


	5. Chapter 5

**(Toris)**

On the horizon, the sun was beginning to rise. The light flooded through the cracked windows of our small apartment. Raivis cuddled closer to me, wrapping his lanky arms around my torso. Last night, he dreamed of an aktzia. Our family, Eduard, Raivis and I were rounded up, humiliated, then sent to die. He spent half the night sobbing in my embrace, while I tried my best to calm him down, promising promises I know I would never be able to keep.

And now the light of the sun was beginning to wake me, and I stroked his hair one more time before standing and getting dressed in preparation for work.

As I was tying my apron, I heard the tell-tale sound of tires screeching on the asphalt. Both of my brothers were still asleep, unaware of the noises the Nazis were making as they ravaged through innocents houses. I knew, it would be my own demise if I were too slow, but I shook them both awake anyways.

I ran to grab something from the shop downstairs, even if it was nothing more than breadcrumbs. It was then that the doors were kicked down, revealing two Nazi guards. I put my hands up in despair.

"Where are the others?" They asked in Polish, and I lowered my head. I had to lie. I couldn't let them get Eduard and Raivis.

"They aren't here." One of them nudged my cheek with his gun, and the other began to ransack my store, laughing as glass bottles broke on the floor.

"_Where _are they?" He asked, smirking as I trembled under the barrel of his gun.

"They.. t-they're at w-work." I said, cursing my stutters. He didn't seem convinced, and told the other to check upstairs. I began to sob.

He did, but when he returned, he didn't have my brothers. I thanked the heavens for that, and they pushed me on my way, still pointing the gun at me. In the end, I was rounded up and taken to the nearest train station to be shipped off.

* * *

**(Raivis)**

I'm so nervous I'm shaking, hiding beneath the floorboards. Sobs and other noises form in my throat, but I force them down and I hug Eduard closer to me. He's scared too, I know it, but he doesn't show it as much as me. No, he just hugs me closer and strokes my hair to calm me down.

The Nazi that has Toris downstairs is pacing around right above me, making the floorboards creak. He's cursing, ransacking all of our belongings. He smashes a bottle right above us, and Eduard and I are littered with glass shards and liquids. Through the cracks in the floor, I can see the bottoms of his boots as he turns to leave. But before he does, he speaks to us in a harsh voice.

"I know you're there, little one. I'll get you. Just you wait." He says, and he leaves. I hear the door close, then the Nazi is screaming at Toris to 'Geh, geh! Schell!'. We wait, silent, crying. It is nightfall by the time we emerge from our spot beneath the floorboards, and the Nazi's are patrolling the area after curfew. The stakes are high, and I tremble in fear. I cannot do this. Eduard and I, we must get out of here.

_But Toris is already gone, they'll get you too_, part of my brain tells me, but I must try. I must leave.

Eduard seems to notice this newfound desperation in me and nods, wrapping me in one of his larger coats. I might not need it, as it is now March, but anything I have could be useful.

The streets are filled with rotting souls, and blood. The cobblestones are a grimy red, and the buildings are falling into a state of disrepair. We sneak through alleyways, run across streets, and climb over fences until we reach our destination. It's a wall, tall and dark, only illuminated by the street lamps of the ghetto.

Eduard pulls me toward him and hugs me close. He strokes my hair, whispering words of encouragement, words of faith, and only then do I realise that he is not coming with me. Eduard hears something, and pushes me toward one of the rat holes that lead under it. He fades back away, and my emotions get the better of me like they always do. I sob, but he just shakes his head. "Go, go, be safe." He says quietly, nodding. But I cannot, and I run to him, holding my brother in my arms. Will this be the last time? Will I ever see him again?

He smiles, and I feel his hot tears on my skin, and, I too, begin to cry, burying my face in his chest. I release him before he lets me go. I give a shaky smile, "I-I'll see you a-around?" I know the answer, but playing dumb means it is harder to hurt your emotions.

He nods, smiling a bit back, and kisses my forehead, sending me to climb beneath the big wall.

And now I see. The world outside the ghetto is just as grimy. There is no blood, no rotting souls, but there is a sense of forgotten dignity, I can feel it.

I hide myself away in an alley, sitting against the dirty walls, and looking towards the night sky with regret.

'God, how can you still make the stars shine when this is happening?' I ask, but no one answers.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, unfortunately this chapter was a bit short, but I split the original chapter into two parts for this rewrite, so that chapter might be up tomorrow or Sunday. Until then, please review! They fuel the fire! Or.. writing motivation? Idk.. ('Geh, geh! Schell!' means 'Go, go! Faster/Hurry!')**


	6. Chapter 6

When I awaken from my sleep, I am plagued with the smells of the sewers and the sound of humanity. My vision is blinded by the light of midday. My first thoughts are of my brothers, but my second thoughts are of myself. How am I to get out of here?

Then it hits me. The smell of sewage and shit, and then I get it. It's impossible to walk around up here wearing the Star of David, but below ground, in the absolute depths of excrement and garbage is where no human being would dare to travel. Then it won't matter anymore. I can escape.

After looking around anxiously, I begin to remove the manhole cover that sits in the abandoned alleyway. I began to slid it off, when a feminine voice rang out from above.

"Jew boy!" She said, then tossed me a loaf of bread, a candle, and a cigarette lighter. She waved, and I never will forget that sympathetic smile she wore. "Good luck!"  
I smiled back, waving back at her. I didn't know who she was, but any help I could get was help I wouldn't forget.

I climbed into the sewers and pulled the manhole back over the entrance, descending into the darkness. It took me a couple moments to light the candle, and when I did, the room was lit up. There were two directions: right or left. I took the left.

As I trudged on, sludge filled my shoes and human excrement stained the cuffs of my pants. The brick walls looked unstable, as if they would collapse at any given moment, and the smells of shit suffocated me. I was forced to squeeze through bars, and even bend the rusty mess with my hands when I had too. A long gash appeared on my leg as I got careless and dragged my leg over a blockade of broken, rusty iron bars. From then on, I limped more cautiously through the sewers.

I don't know how long I was underground, whether it was hours or days hiking through the shit. The bread had been discarded a long time ago, when it had been covered in crap, but the candles continued to be useful. I tore off part of my brothers big coat to hold the melting wax. The flame flickered throughout the halls, and I smiled in glee when I saw a light at the other end of the tunnel.

The happiness that filled my head was so overbearing that I began to run toward the light. It shined bright, and the light burned my eyes as I fell into the gunky water that the sewers fed out to. It was disgusting, but I was filled with so much relief that I couldn't bring myself to care. I swam to the shore and climbed out of the murky water. The clothes I wore were covered in shit, and my face was the same. But as I fell onto the shore, my lungs heaved a sigh and my hands grasped my chest in jubilation. I wasn't free yet, I knew, but I had escaped the city without intervention, or questioning.

Without a thought, I ripped the yellow Star of David from my shirt, and tossed it into the water. It's not that I am denouncing my faith, God, don't believe that! I could die with that thing on me. I love my religion, but I'm not about to die because of a Star sewn to a piece of my clothing.

The skyline of Warsaw is behind me, and I turned to wish it goodbye.

Goodbye Warsaw. Someday, I will come back.

* * *

That night, I slept in a nearby meadow, and the tall grass hid me away from the eyes of the citizens. The cold wind pierced through my brother's coat, but I managed. I was awoken by trucks the next morning. There's no doubt in my mind that the trucks are carrying more of my people, but I just tremble in the field, watching and waiting until they pass. My feet hurt when I stand, but I must move. I have to get away from the Nazis at all costs. I am in the countryside now, stumbling across fields and climbing over fences. My feet are bruised and scraped, my mind is hazy with hunger, and my eyelids keep fluttering, trying to tell me that I can't do this, that I need rest. _No,_ I tell myself, _I can, and I must not sleep, not yet, just a bit farther..._

There's a well up on the hill, and I climb to wash myself. I really am starting to stink. I begin with my face. Oh, it feels so good to be clean, it's so nice and refreshing, to feel the grime of the city wash away. It's gone, the sewers are gone, the mark of poverty is gone, everything is gone when I splash the cold water over my face.

But that is as far as I got before I was noticed by one of the farmers in the area. It was a woman with icy eyes and long brown hair that was pulled back into a braid. I froze. Surely, she wouldn't turn me in. T-There'd be no point, no reward. I looked at her, as she stormed toward me, viciously grabbing my arm and began heading toward the house.

"Krzysztof! I've been looking for you everywhere!" She shouted angrily, dragging me into her house. "What have I told you about playing in the mud?!" I stared at her for a moment after she slammed the door behind her, and she sighed. "Your welcome." I was silent.

"... Wait, what?" I asked her, confused. She hummed slightly, looking for something in one of her cabinet drawers.

"The Nazis have been watching you for a while now," she answered, standing to hand me a small knife still in it's cover. "So, I'm going to assume that you are a person of interest."

I took the knife from her hands and admired it with care. It was fairly short, made for quick but shallow stabs. It was sharp too, and I cut myself along the edge. My confusion was cleared when my brain finally realised what was happening.

"I am a partisan." The woman said, stepping a bit closer to me. "You owe me, so you will join my forces, okay?" I nodded with excitement and a newfound purpose in life. To avenge my people.

* * *

The woman, Irena, fed me simple oatmeal to stave off my hunger, and gave me water and milk to quench my thirst. She explained attack plans, and taught me the proper way to load a pistol, stab a man, and how to camouflage oneself. It was dark when her lectures stopped, and we both heard the doorknob fumbling.

I hid beneath the table, and Irena went to greet the newcomers. There's three of them, all dressed in Nazi uniform. Irena turns to me, smiling softly.

"It's alright, Raivis, these are friends." Two of them look at my huddled frame while the third lights up a smoke. They sat down around the table, sharing the single cigarette and watching me with eerie eyes. Irena stood above them, looking at each of them with different emotions.

After a couple minutes of smoking and silence, one of them, with dark hair and violet eyes, began to speak to me. His hand extended and I came up to meet it in a solid handshake. "My name is Roderich." He said. "I am an Austrian who was in the German army until I defected." He took his glasses off and began to clean them with his shirt. "I was so appalled at their ideals. I could not stand them, so I left." He nodded to a blond-haired man who was inhaling the smoke with greed. "That's Konrád." The man choked and bit and begin coughing, glaring at Roderich.

"I-I can introduce m-myself!" He wheezed through the smoke, then he turned to me. "I'm Konrád, I'm from Sudetenland in Czechoslovakia, and my story is practically the same as old Roddy's here!" He draped his arm over Roderich's shoulder, which the brunet just pushed off as he rolled his eyes. Konrád pouted, but pointedly looked at the third member, who was silent, keeping his bangs covering his eyes. His introduction was muttered, almost impossible to hear.

"I'm Addam, the Jew," he said, and Irena followed up with an explanation.

"He's from Czechoslovakia as well." She explained. "And I believe he's cheated death a couple times, right?" Roderich and Konrád nodded, but Addam just made an affirmative answer, staring solemnly into a canteen he had pulled out earlier. "Well boys, this is our new recruit, Raivis!" She grinned.

"Where ya from?" Konrád asked me, looking interested.

"L-Latvia, my mother lives in Riga, but my brothers and I lived in Warsaw. But my oldest brother got taken by Nazis, and I'm not sure 'bout Eduard." For the first time since I left, I could feel tears stinging my eyes. "I'm really worried about them.." Konrád stared at me, leaning over the table to give me a solid hug.

"I'm sorry, boy," he muttered into my ear. "I know it's hard, but pull through, stay strong. Prove to those Nazi bastards that they can't break you."

* * *

**A/N: Well, sorry this is a bit late, but the AP tests got to me again! But my absense greets you with a nice thick chapter of absolutely nothing! Isn't that great?! I think next chapter will include Alfred and Arthur though! So, uh, stay strong and patient until then, 'cause I don't have any idea when I'm going to update next... Reviews are loved!**


	7. Chapter 7

**(Toris)**

The darkness and sheer chilling temperature of the barracks are what got to me first, then it was the other men that scared me half to death. They were like living corpses, thin, hair falling from their scalps, and grim looks of devastation and despair that flocked throughout the camp. This very place, where death walks on two legs, and inhumane things take place.

But work, work, work, they say, makes you free. If you work, they will let you go. But that is a promise they will never keep.

This bed is uncomfortable. There is no mattress, just wood. Wood that is currently breaking my back, and keeping me up.

Beside me is another martyr, and I have yet to know his name, but when he utters the word 'Mamusię' in his sleep, I recognise the voice, the tone. It is Feliks, my friend that was rounded up a month before I was. I sit up, barely avoiding the wooden frame above me.

It doesn't look like him. It can't be him. His face is sunken and hollow, and his once beautiful blond hair is only existent in clumps. No, it can't be him, but it is him, God, what have they done to him?

I lay back down, turning onto my stomach as I watch the beams of light travel across the ground. The sun is rising, signalling the start of a new day. Work makes you free.

A stocky German barks at us to rise, get up! And we do. Feliks seems to recognise me, and gives me little hopeful smile. "It's not that bad." He whispers, but I doubt it. His cheeks are hollowed, his eyes are beginning to sink into his skull, but they never lost their vitality.

The German is a prisoner like us, flashing around his green triangle. He had silver hair, and red eyes. His voice is loud and harsh, and we file into a line to do the morning routine that I have yet to learn, for I have only been here one day.

* * *

"Toris," Feliks shouts at me above the machines in the factory. "What are you doing here?" I sigh, my head beginning to hurt and my stomach gurgling in protest. Feliks gives me an understanding look when I don't answer him, and he turns back to the ammunitions he's stuffing.

"It just happened." I say after a short period in silence, shouting so that my voice will cut above the screaming machines. Feliks nods, biting his lip when he cuts his finger on a piece of sharp metal. I stop working to check on him, but he keeps working.

"Toris!" He shouts, pointing toward my post. "Get back or they'll whip you!" I do as I'm told, trembling slightly.

"But you're hurt!" I insist, watching him with nervous eyes, looking at the cut where blood is flowing steadily onto the bullets he's stuffing.

But he keeps telling me that, 'it's just a scratch.' or 'it's no big deal.' and I shut my mouth and do my job, stomach aching in my gut.

* * *

The next morning is no different from the first, I watch as the sun from the windows fades across the floor slowly. Beside me, Feliks is squirming, still in his deep sleep. His face contorts into a wince, and I frown. Damn, the things I had tried so hard to get rid of, his horrifying childhood and memories and nightmares that I thought I had annihilated. I suppose not.

I reached out to grip his arm firmly, trying to wake him up, make him aware, of his surroundings, not that they were any better than 1923 Poznań. That's where he was from, and that's where his mother was killed by a crazy drunkard. That's what his dreams are about, and I thought I had disposed of such anxious ideas.

I try the method that usually works, a tight hug, and whispering words of comfort, but he pushes me away with his arms. Tears are rolling down his cheeks, and his lips utter words of nonsense before I shake him awake. I pull him into another tight hug, and he relaxes, melting into my chest with harsh sobs.

He's gripping my shirt in his hands, clawing at my back with his fingernails, and I'm doing everything I can to ease his pain. He whispers my name, and I shush him, stroking his back with my hand, telling him that I'm here, everything's okay, even when I know it's desperately far from being okay.

He sniffles, looking up at my with red eyes. I smile back, laughing softly as I move my hand to stroke his sunken face with care. He's looks depressed, sleep-deprived, and too thin to be healthy. But still, his eyes give me hope. He might last a couple more weeks.

He seems to take an interest in my hair, looking at it with curious eyes. "Toris," he whispers. "Turn around." And I do, flipping over within the small confines of the bunk. His hands part my hair with caution, and his fingers keep picking things out of my hair. "Toris!" He finally whines, and I look over my shoulder at him. "You have really bad dandruff."

I gawk at him. "I can't help it!" He laughs softly and goes back, continuing to pick through my hair. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Some of the guards said prisoners were dying of typhus. I'm making sure you don't have any lice, because they're the main carrier." I really didn't know what any of that meant, but I gave in and began to relish in the feeling of his fingers stroking through my hair. This man, this friend of mine, this crazy college student, was becoming my savior in this Hell.

* * *

**(Gilbert) **

It wasn't much of a surprise when I learned that my Bruder was also promoted to an _Oberkapo_. It was something I assumed would happen, because of his German nationality, and his stocky build. But when we had time off, we would sit on the dusty path and talk of this and that. Of our mother, of our history, of the ideas we had for our future, and, of course, the ideas of rebellion and revolt. We noticed how many prisoners to guards. We outnumber them by a large amount, but the prisoners just need a leader, and then we'll get out of here.

It was our break day, the one day that we get to enjoy the weather outside. But, of course, today was a dark day, clouds blocking the suns rays. My brother and I were walking around camp, just talking.

"What do you think Mutti is doing?" My Bruder asks, and I look at him scanning his face for any emotion, but he shows none. I sigh. Dad was like that too.

"I don't know," I answer, kicking some dirt around with the toe of my shoes, watching in amusement as it clouds, but falls back to the ground. Before my brother could respond, a couple of children ran to us, thin arms outstretched in silent bidding. None of them could understand German, and neither of us could understand the Romani, language of gypsies. Instead, we communicates with hand gestures. I placed a piece of bread in each child's hand before they stuffed their faces, running back to climb through the fence that separated their section of the camp.

Behind me, a man ran to me, and, as he smiled nervously, he held his hands out like the children. "Lebensmittel, ve?" He said, and part of me remembered this man from the uniform assignments. In my pocket sat the golden cross of his brother. I hadn't turned it in yet, but seeing this boy again definitely made me decide against it. My brother began to give the brunet bread as well, but I begin to think of something. When he began to run off, I ran with him.

"Warte, warte!" I shouted, and he stopped. I panted as I caught up to him. "Wie heisst du?" I asked, for I don't know any language but German. He smiles at me.

"Feliciano Vargas."

"W-Wo ist dein Bruder? Bitte.." I ask him, still panting softly. His eyes widen, and I think he remembers who I am. He looks scared, and I lower my head in shame.

"E-eh, er ist dahin. Komm." He says to me. His German is a bit rusty, and he still has his Italian accent in it. He leads me over, where the other man is sitting on the steps to a barracks, head in hands. Feliciano motions me forward, nibbling on his bread that my Bruder had given him.

I crouch in front of the man, coughing to get his attention. His head snaps up, growling at me. He whispers something to me, and Feliciano translates it. The man sure does use a lot of expletives.

From my pocket, I withdraw a large portion of bread and hand it to him, smirking when he takes it from my hands and beginning to nibble at it. He whispers something else, and Feliciano translates it as 'thank you'. But I'm not done there.

I take the crucifix from my pocket as well, and takes his hands from the bread. His eyes widen as I curl his fingers around the golden cross, and I smile as he stares at me. I stand, and ruffle the man's hair, then turn to Feliciano.

"Danke." I say, turning to walk back to my Bruder with more of a stride in my step.

* * *

**(Alfred)**

As his eyes roamed over the papers one more time, they lit in fascination, and determination. It was June 5, 1940, two days after the evacuation at Dunkirk. He was excited, his breath was coming in short pants now as he prepared his suitcase.

He kissed his mother goodbye that evening, hugging her tightly, wiping away her tears as his father patted him firmly on the back. He waved goodbye from the train as it departed from the station.

* * *

**(Iain/Scotland)**

It was bright... Too fucking bright. I can feel my eyebrows furrow together in annoyance, listening to my brother's voice, ringing out in the darkness. "Iain," I can hear him calling me, I can hear him, but I can't answer. "Iain." He says again, and my eyes finally pull themselves open.

Arthur, my kid brother is beside me, smiling softly. "You finally woke up!"

"Of course I did, lad." I began to sit up, rubbing my forehead to get rid of my painful headache. "Did you think I was dead?" Arthur looks me up and down, then crosses his arms with a cynical look.

"Well, you've been out for two weeks now, and you look like hell on legs." My eyes bulge.

"Two weeks?!" Arthur nods.

"Two weeks. What did I tell you about bailing out of a plane? Because you obviously didn't do it right." He surveyed my bruises, which I was now becoming aware of.

"I-I can't help it that the cockpit door got jammed! I did the best I could with the resources I had!" I argued, but he didn't look convinced. And when I began to speak again, he stood, preparing to leave.

"Sorry Iain, but I have to go. Work is calling." I blinked.

"Hey, what are you guys doing over at MI6 that's so goddamn important?" I asked curiously, hoping that maybe he would tell me this time, to no avail.

"Like I would tell you!" Was his answer, and he turned walking toward the exit to the infirmary. And I just smiled at my brother. He was a stubborn lad, but that's what made him him.

* * *

**A/N: well, yeah, I'm really happy that I got the Arthur, Iain and Alfred parts in this chapter! Reviews are loved!**

**translations: (Mamusię: Mommy (Polish)), (Warte, warte! Wie heisst du?: Wait, wait! What's your name? (German)), (W-Wo ist dein Bruder? Bitte: W-Where is your brother? Please (German)), (E-eh, er ist dahin. Komm: E-Eh, he is there/He is over there. Come (German)), (Bruder: brother, Danke: thank you (German)) **


	8. Chapter 8

**(Ludwig)**

Earlier today, the authorities gave me permission to eat from the guard's mess hall, and outfitted me with better-fitting clothes, even though they still clothed me in stripes. They said they would give me a coat when the weather got cold enough in a couple months. I don't exactly think I would enjoy wearing a coat in June anyway.

I am thankful for the authorization the guards gave me, and the cooked food is still warm when I gather it onto my plate. The potatoes taste amazing, and so does the beer served. Everything tastes great, and I don't think you understand why. When you are so close to starvation, and death from it surrounds you everyday, then you come to worship a full stomach.

When my ration of potatoes runs out, I break the bread in half, putting one piece in my mouth and the other in my pocket. I give my plate to the Jewish kitchenboy, and inwardly smile when he licks the crumbs and nonexistent leftovers from it, then places it in a foaming sink. He looks about six, he's short and pudgy, and his fingers are still chubby from his child-like form. He shouldn't have to deal with these horrors. I still look at him, and he gives me a toothless smile.

"Don't worry, mister. I can take care of these plates." I frown, and break off a fourth of my bread, handing it to him through the small window. His eyes widen, and he smiled even brighter. "Thanks!" He says as he takes it, beginning to eat the bread greedily. I smile softly, and take my leave, heading out the back door into the alleyway between the barracks and the mess hall.

I grab a rationed cigarette from my pocket, lighting it up with a lighter given to me by the one of the guards. The cigarette lit nicely, and glowed orange as I inhaled the smokes. It was relaxing, just me and myself, outside. The sky was blue, and the weather was warm. For a second, I actually forgot where I was, but it didn't matter.

Beside me, the dumpster rustled loudly, and I kicked it with my foot, thinking it was just a bunch of filthy rats that loitered around the mess. But I was sorely mistaken when the dumpster, or whatever was inside it, shrieked.

"I-I am just a box of dumpster faeries!" Someone from inside the dumpster laughed nervously. "Nothing to see here, just go away." I frowned, glaring at the box in confusion.. Who in their right mind would hide in a dumpster?

I lifted the lid to peak into the box, but the man inside wailed, almost tackling me as he shouted out excuses and apologies. "Please, please don't kill me, I'm sorry!" He wailed, begging, and hanging off me like some kind of leech... That just came out of a dumpster. "Please, I have relatives in Berlin! Please, just please don't kill me!" He clung to my shirt, tears soaking it as they ran from his eyes. "I have three brothers and three sisters! Please don't kill me!" I groaned, trying to pry him off me. He was ruining my hair, knocking it out of place with his hands.

"Alright, alright! Just shut up!" I yelled, and he did, which finally gave me the time to get him off and away from me. Then I realised someone in the mess hall had probably heard our conversation, and faint footsteps made their way toward the back exit.

I took the man by his hair, dragging him behind the dumpster, and silencing him with my hand. It clasped around his mouth, and he trembled in my embrace. His breathing spiked, and he squirmed, trying his best to break away from my arms, but I only held him tighter.

"Shh, don't make a noise." I whispered in his ear, listening to his breathing slow down, and his wriggling stopped. I hugged him closer to my chest, listening to the door to the mess open, and shut. Someone walked over to the dumpster, and opening it. I could hear them hum in thought, then they turned to leave, heading back into the mess hall.

I held the man a little longer, waiting until both our hearts and breathing slowed a bit, before releasing him, watching as he stood. He swept some of the dust off his pants, and held his hand out to me. I took it with some hesitation, helping the man to pull me to my feet. He smiled.

"My name is Feliciano Vargas." He said to me. "Thank you."

I nodded. "Your welcome. My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt." I frowned. "It has been nice meeting you, but my shift starts soon, if you don't mind." And I walked away, but not before I handed him parts of the bread that were in my pocket. He needed them much more than I did.

* * *

**(Alfred) **

The boat trip to England was horrible, absolutely horrible! I'm just glad we didn't get blown up by a U-boat, or something, because that would've sucked.

Nah, it wasn't that bad, it was just a rough ride. Made me vomit all over myself a lot, so I had to carry a slop bucket around wherever I went. BUT, during the ride, I did make a new friend. I somehow didn't see this guy, and I bumped into him, and that's how we met. I think he said his name was Matthew, or something. He's Canadian, but I don't know how they pronounce words like that up in the great white north, so I just call him Mattie.

He was often seasick too, and we'd hang out around the rails together, puking our guts out as we talked about sports and other things. But when we finally arrived in London, I was hoping to just relax and enjoy some food (though, to be honest, I don't think it's possible to enjoy English food..), but instead, we were driven straight to the airfield.

The accommodations were fairly comfortable, nothing special, but as we were given a tour, I bumped into a short, obviously British man with blond hair and green eyes. I didn't think he'd be anything special, but later on, I'd be proven wrong. Shh, I don't want to spoil the story for any of you, so I won't say anything.

The man curses me, glaring up with his strikingly pretty green eyes. No, seriously, they were.. like emeralds..

"Bloody hell, watch where you're going!" He yells at me, but I just smile sheepishly and step out of his way, watching as he continues past me in a huff. I'd look for him every day after that, purposely bumping into him just to get his attention. I learned he was my bunkmate's brother, so he'd come around fairly often to talk to him, and I'd just take the chance to listen in on his conversations. Something about him drew me in, and soon he finally, really did begin to notice my interest in him.

One night, my bunkmate, Iain, and I were playing cards, drinking a bit of the rationed rum, when he showed up to talk to Iain. The Scotsman smiled, insisting that his brother join in the card game, and I was finally formally introduced to Arthur. He said he worked for a pub down the street from the airfield, and insisted that we show up sometime. Whenever we got our leave, we said, the two of us would visit Iain's younger brother there.

* * *

**A/N: Well, this chapter isn't meant to be serious, but it's actually a bit more serious than it was before... fail!Alfred writing, yay~ and I finally give you people some gerita! You all should be happy and thank me.**


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